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He’s out of breath from his fight and his right eye is swelling shut rapidly. Spitting blood, he glances at me. “Arran Maxton. So nice to see you again.”
“Can’t say I feel the same about you.”
Smirking, he tilts his chin upward. “What brings you to my lovely neck of the voods?” Though he’s nearly perfected his English, he can’t fully hide his Russian accent, slipping occasionally, with throatyl’s and extra consonants here and there.
Motioning for Ruslan to step back, I move to stand in front of Yegor. I scrutinize him and find him absolutely disgusting. “You killed my sister, so I came to killyou.”
Laughing, he asks, “Zen what are you vaiting for?” There’s no denial, his expression defiant and completely unrepentant.
Kate’s beautiful face fills my mind, followed by the images of her broken body on display for everyone to see, and I’m engulfed by rage. I circle him, not to make him nervous, but to calm my own frazzled nerves and the voice in my head that’s screaming for me to attack. To kill. To obliterate him.
I pause behind him and fist my hands at my sides, using the sheer power of will to keep from pummeling him. Because I don’t just wanthimdead. I want anyone involved in her murder to pay the highest price.
“Who hired you for the hit?” I demand.
He turns so that his sharp profile comes into view. But even from this angle, the smile is visible. “Vat makes you think someone hired me? I’m not a hitman.”
“But you are. The fact that you appointed yourself king of this town doesn’t mean shit in mine. Who the fuck hired you?”
“You’ll let me go if I say?” he asks in a mocking tone.
Walking to stand in front of him once again, I lean in close. “Who. The. Fuck. Was. It.”
He chuckles, a crazy sort of laugh that has my jaw tensing so hard it hurts. Then he stops and looks from Ruslan to me. “You think you’re so poverful, don’t you? With the big, bad bodyguard to do all the vork for you. You couldn’t handle a man like me yourself, you weak piece of shit!”
Abruptly, he bursts from the chair, his arms free from the rope, and attacks. Instinctively, I throw my hand out and grab him by the throat at the same time as I push all of my weight forward.
I force him back into his seat and dig my fingers into the sides of his neck. He wraps his hands around my wrist and makes a choking sound as he struggles to take in a breath, but I just squeeze harder.
I’m strong on any day, but my anger and pain make it impossible for him to pry me off.
Leaning in, my teeth grinding, I hiss, “You fucking cockroach. Do you honestly believe he would be my partner if I was weak? The only reason he took you down was because I was afraid I’d kill you before I got you to talk.”
“And because I wanted to beat up on him a little too,” Ruslan says.
The veins in Yegor’s temples swell and his eyes widen as he looks behind me toward Ruslan.
“Don’t look at him.” I backhand him and get his attention back to me. “He’s not going to help you. Who hired you?” I relax my hold on his throat enough for him to speak.
But his gaze drifts again. “?????????.”Traitor. “You are von of us.”
Ruslan laughs. “Fucking bitch callingmea traitor, whileyouterrorized our people.”
“Eyes on me,” I say. “Who the fuck sent you? Who put a hit on my sister?!”
“I hold za answer in the palm of my hand. But you will never learn the truth.” Yegor begins to laugh again in that psychotic manner, and I feel my self-control slip. My grip tightens, and my blood pressure rises with each cackle.
Unable to stand it any longer, I fully relinquish control. From the holster on my belt, I tug the Karambit knife, slice it across his neck, and jam it into his carotid artery. Blood sprays, peppering the wall with crimson droplets.
As his life spurts out of him, he drops his hold on me and just stares at me with amusement. Then his eyes are no longer on me. No longer there at all.
“Shit, you killed him,” Ruslan says.
I release Yegor, letting him slump to the floor. “He wasn’t going to tell me.”
For a long moment, I peer at his body, my breathing hard and my heartbeat erratic. That’s when something catches my attention. A business card partly in his palm, partly in his pocket, as if at the last second, before he lost consciousness, he decided to pull it out.
Taking it from him, I read the name and understand why he was laughing. He literally held the answer in the palm of his hand.
